Cold Weather
by soufflewhouffle
Summary: When Cas accidentally takes Dean to the North Pole and finds his angel mojo blocked, he and Dean have to find a way to keep warm. *kinda smutty but not extremely explicit*


**Prompt: COLD TEMPERATURES FORCE CHARACTERS INTO CLOSE PROXIMITY.**  
**Words: 3109**  
**Pairing: Destiel**  
**Warnings: Swearing, and I guess M rated bc smutty stuff only it's not really that explicit idk**

'Dammit, Cas!'

Dean's voice is sharp, almost as sharp as the cold, biting wind tugging at his clothes.

Cas frowns, looking dejected, and Dean sighs. 'Look, I know you didn't mean to, but really? Fucking Alaska?'

Cas looks up at that. 'Alaska?' He says. 'No, no. We're actually at the North Pole.'

'Fucking _brilliant_.' Dean turns away, pulling his shoulder from Cas's grip. 'Because that's _so _much better. Jesus.'

'I never said it was a good thing.' Cas replies primly. 'And you oughtn't blaspheme.'

'If you don't shut up, Cas, I swear to god I'll-'

'Blasphemer.'

'_Shut up_.'

Dean turns back to face Cas. 'Okay. Just zap us back, quickly, please. God damn, Cas, I'm _freezing_.'

A mutinous expression crosses Cas's face. 'I thought I was supposed to shut up.' He mutters. 'Anyway, that's the third time you've used the name of the Lord in vain in under a minute. I shan't do anything for you if you don't listen.'

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes hard. 'You're such a damn _child_, Cas.'

He straightens up and meets Cas's gaze. His eyes are steady and a piercing blue.

'Look, I'm sorry for taking the Lord's name in vain and all that. Okay? I would just really, really love to get back to the motel.'

'We weren't going to the motel.'

'_All right! _Wherever it is you were supposed to take me the first time, then.' Dean groans, stamping his feet. 'Just get us out of here.'

Cas cocks his head. 'Am I really a child?'

Dean closes his eyes, pushing down his frustration. _Count to ten, _he thinks.

'No, Cas.' He drawls. 'You're the biggest, baddest, most grown man I've ever known. You're not at all _immature _ and _petty_.'

Hurt pools in those eyes and Dean feels a pang of guilt.

'Sorry, sorry.' He mumbles. 'I'm just cold. And I really want to get someplace else. As quickly as possible.' He tries for his trademark smirk, eyebrow raised in eternal hope.

Cas nods. 'Okay.' He says, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders. 'Hold tight.'

Dean nods, gripping Cas's shouldersin return. He closes his eyes and waits.

And waits.

_And waits._

'Cas?' He hesitantly cracks one eye open and is met by Cas's bewildered expression. With a sense of impending doom, he groans and opens both eyes fully. 'Cas, what's wrong?'

'There's something...I...I can't reach my power.' He looks up at Dean and his pitiful expression makes Dean want to either cry or laugh. He can't decide which. Cas's mouth turns down at the corners. 'I'm blocked.'

'Awesome.' Dean growls, turning and walking a few paces away. 'Just awesome.'

Cas runs up behind him. 'What do we do, Dean?'

Dean faces him, expression incredulous. 'You're asking me?' He scoffs. 'You're the angel. You're the one who got us into this mess. I'm just a hunter - ' he pauses, breathing raggedly. 'Who's _stranded at the North fucking Pole with a powerless angel in a stupid fucking trench coat!_'

Cas frowns at him. 'You should keep a better hold on your temper. All that stress isn't good for you.' He tells Dean. 'I've heard that it can cause humans a great deal of damage. Did you know, over time it can actually-'

'Cas?'

'Yes, Dean?'

'_Shut the fuck up._'

A moment of blessed silence.  
And then;

'Is my trench coat really stupid?'

'_CAS!_'

It's only a moment later when Dean really starts to feel the cold.

Shivering, teeth chattering, he pulls his ridiculously inadequate jacket more tightly around him. Cas notices this and frowns.

'Dean? Are you cold?'

Dean holds in an exasperated groan.

'It's the North Pole and I'm wearing jeans and a jacket. Of course I'm fucking cold.' A thought occurs to him and he squints at Cas suspiciously.

'You're not?'

Cas shakes his head. 'Angels don't feel cold unless it's a very extreme temperature.'

Dean scoffs. 'This isn't extreme?'

Cas shakes his head again. 'The kind of temperature it must be for an angel to feel hot or cold it beyond anything your human sciences have yet to comprehend.' A small smile graces his lips. 'You're all so stupid.'

'Hey!' Dean says indignantly. 'You mean we're not all blessed with actual superpowers and the knowledge of God?'

Cas gives him a level look. 'What's the difference?'

Dean can feel his fingers turning numb and for the first time, he realises the very real danger he's in.

'Cas-' He tries to say, and his lips struggle to form the words. 'C-cas, I'm cold, I'm really - cold-'

Cas's gaze flicks up to him with a sudden urgency and Dean gasps, pulling icy air into his frozen lungs.

'Jesus, I'm f-freezing.' _Freezing to death,_ he thinks. 'Cas, we gotta d-do something-'

Cas looks lost, and he hesitates before pulling off his trenchcoat and offering it to Dean.

'D-dammit, Cas, don't b-be ri-ridicu-lous!' Dean's stuttering is off the scale and he winces as he hears the words come out of his mouth jumbled and messy. He's always been a smooth talker.

Cas looks desperate and he casts his gaze around wildly. Not too far away, there's what looks like outcroppings of rock in the otherwise bleak landscape.

'Dean, we need to get over there. There may be some respite from the wind, or if we are lucky, a more useful shelter.'

Dean doesn't bother trying to reply, just nods at Cas and starts to walk. Cas grips his arm tight as they stumble through the snow and Dean tries to focus on the brand of warmth it leaves on his skin.

They reach their destination after what feels like hours but was probably only a minute or so. Dean sags against the freezing rock, and feels Cas's hand leave his arm. The cold air stings against the vacancy and he winces.

He's too tired to feel scared; the cold's sapped all his energy and he focuses his willpower on just staying awake. He thinks he can hear Cas, and then he definitely can, his excited voice ringing in his ears and making him groan.

'Dean! Dean, come on, I found something; quickly!'

A hand yanks on his wrist and the warmth's back, a burning, searing contrast against the bitter cold. Dean follows the warmth as Cas pulls him forwards, eyes focusing on tousled black hair and beige trench coat.

His feet hit solid ground instead of powdery, crunching snow, and Cas is pushing him down, onto his knees, and if Dean wasn't too cold to even begin to open his mouth he probably would have made a blowjob joke.

And then Cas is tugging at him and they're crawling into a small opening in the rock face (Dean won't even call it a cave, really, he reckons caves need to be at least three times as big to even be called as such and if they aren't they ought to be).

'W-wh-at the h-h-ell, C-c-as?' He says, lips clumsily spitting slurred words.

'It's more sheltered. Warmer, and safer.' Cas says. 'Are you warmer? Dean, are you warmer?'  
Dean thinks he hears desperation lacing Cas's voice. He thinks he should be scared, but he can't find it in him. _Humour him_. A voice tells him, and he does.

'Y-ye-s, I f-f-feel m-much wa-warmer now.' It's easily the shittiest lie he's ever told and he doesn't care. Can't care. He's forgotten what it feels like to care, really. (He doesn't care about that, either.)

But then Cas's hand is leaving his wrist and suddenly he does care, he cares a lot, because the only pinprick of warmth left in the world is receding and he gasps, suddenly terrified.

'N-no, no, C-cas-' His hand grops wildly until it finds Cas's.  
'Dean? What is it?'  
'D-don't m-m-move. W-warm.'

'What?' Cas's voice is confused and Dean suddenly realises that maybe Cas isn't actually supposed to be a human (_angel_, a voice in his mind corrects) radiator.

'Dean, did you say warm?' Cas's voice is excited, now, still harbouring the desperate tint but hopeful nonetheless.

'This place...Whatever, whoever, is blocking my power, has blocked most of it, the more important parts, but maybe I'm still able to access my minor abilities.'

Dean hopes Cas knows he's talking to himself. His ears won't work.

'I must be subconsciously directing them at you.' Cas mutters. 'Dean, can you feel this?'

Blessed heat lands on Dean's neck and he nods fervently. His eyelids flutter shut as another wave of exhaustion washes over him, but he nods again. 'Y-yes.'

'Thank God.' He thinks he hears Cas breathe, but that's wrong, he's wrong, because Cas would never "use the name of the Lord in vain", as he so often tells Dean.

But then Dean isn't worried about that because there's more heat, trails of fire moving across his torso as fingers undo buttons and pull clothes from his body.

Some part of Dean knows that there is something off about this - he vaguely thinks that when you're cold, you're supposed to keep clothes _on _- but really, all he wants to think about are the hands on his chest.  
They're gone, for a long, terrible moment, and Dean thinks he'll cry, or maybe freeze to death, whichever comes first. But then they're back and he can breathe again.

Only this time, they're followed by more; a blanket of heat across his stomach and chest, tendrils of flame wrapped around his back, hot breath and burning skin pressed into the crook of his neck. Cas is wrapped around him tight, and Dean can't help but cling to him desperately, soaking in the warmth. Even as he clutches Cas's shoulder's tighter, he can feel the numbness receding and actual thought begins to flood his mind.

Slowly, he starts to feel his lips again, and he tries for a word.

'Cas?'

Cas's gaze snaps up to meet his, and Dean tries not to mourn the loss of the feeling of his head against his neck.

'Dean.' Cas breathes. 'I was concerned.'

'Yeah, well, you wouldn't have had to be if you hadn't dragged us into this mess in the first place.' Dean snarks, but his heart's not in it and his mind is racing over other things.

Such as the fact that he's really, _really _ enjoying the feeling of Cas's chest pressed up against his own. And the way he really doesn't care that Cas's face is mere inches away from his, close enough to taste, to kiss-

_What the fuck, Dean?_

He pulls one arm away from where it's wrapped around Cas's waist (how did that even happen? _Jesus_) like he's been stung and Cas's eyes are instantly on him, radiating care and concern and enough mushy feelings to make Dean feel sick.  
Only he doesn't.  
In fact, his heart does a triple-somersault at the myriad of emotions Cas is throwing in his face and Dean wouldn't be surprised if he looked into a mirror and saw himself giving him goo-goo eyes right back. He screws them shut, so hard stars burst across the backs of his eyelids.

'Dean? What's the matter?' Cas's voice is insistent, and he presses himself even closer to Dean. 'Is it not working? What's happened?' Cas's voice is more bordering on frantic now and Dean opens his eyes reluctantly.

'No, it's working, Cas, breathe.'  
Cas doesn't look away, and Dean feels the arms around him tighten slightly. 'What's wrong?' Cas asks again, this time more gently, and Dean blinks, trying to think of something to say. 'Uh, nothing.' He rasps. 'It's fine. I just, uh, felt sick for a moment.'  
He winces at the words, convinced he's never said anything lamer, but Cas being Cas, oblivious and completely clueless, nods in satisfaction. He buries his head back in the crook of Dean's neck, lips brushing his shoulder, and Dean's thinking _fuck butterflies and mushy feelings_, because there's suddenly a whole lot of obscene thoughts running through his head and heading straight down south.

He bites his lip and tries to think of something, _anything _else, but Cas shifts and his hand runs up Dean's back and his lips are slightly parted against his skin and nope, Dean's totally, royally fucked.  
_Maybe Cas won't notice. _He thinks to himself. Glass half full, he reminds himself. Cas is an angel, after all, and he would probably have absolutely zero idea of what was happening even if he did notice and -

'Dean?'  
_Fuck._  
'Yeah?'  
'Is that...have you...'  
'Uh. Have I what?' Dean says, playing for time, and then realises he'd really rather Cas didn't voice the thought.  
'Actually, no, forget that. Maybe.'  
_Maybe? _Dean wants to stab himself. Repeatedly. _Cas asks you whether or not you've got a raging hard-on and you say __**maybe**__?_  
Cas moves a little and Dean's all too aware that Cas's thigh is definitely causing some unwanted (wanted) friction.  
'Cas, uh, you might wanna - fuck - move your leg.' He breathes, and Cas frowns.  
'Why?'  
'Dammit, Cas, why'd you have to be so friggin' clueless?'  
And then Cas smirks, and Dean's surprised, because it's not an expression he ever usually sees, or expects to see, on his face.  
'What?' He asks nervously.  
'I'm not clueless, Dean.'  
Dean swallows nervously, because there could be a few different things Cas means and he's not sure which he'd rather it be.  
'What do you mean?' He asks.  
'I mean, I know why, but _why_?'  
Dean struggles for a moment. '_What_?'  
Cas sighs. 'Do you really need me to spell it out?'  
'Cas, you didn't really give much to go on. Anyway, all I asked was for you to move your leg. I wouldn't have done if I'd known you'd get so fucked up over it.'  
'I know what you meant when you asked, Dean. I just meant...why is it a problem?'  
Dean's mind fizzles out and goes blank. He hates how when he's talking to Cas, he turns to mush.  
'Why...is what a problem?' He ventures.  
'_This_.' Cas drags his leg upwards, and Dean hisses in a sharp breath.  
'Cas - uh, don't - can you-'  
'Don't strain yourself.'  
Dean is distracted for a moment at the sarcasm, indignant. 'I'm not the one who - who, erm -' Cas sighs again, impatient. 'Who's doing _this_?'  
_Again with the fucking leg._  
Dean pretends he didn't just let out a ridiculously low moan and raises an eyebrow.  
'I don't know what you're talking about.' He says noncholantly, and if he's honest, he doesn't know if he's going through the usual routine of denial or if he's actually flirting with Cas. He's not sure which would be better.

'But, you know, just to give me the idea...you could show me again.'  
_Okay. Definitely flirting._  
But he's past caring that this is Castiel the fallen angel, even that it's another guy, because he's exhilirated, blood pumping through his veins and each heartbeat saying _Cas Cas Cas Cas _until his head's spinning and he's pulling in long, ragged breaths. Somehow they've moved so that Cas is above him and green eyes meet blue for a split second before Cas kisses him and Dean feels the strangest sense of relief. Like he's been waiting for this moment for a hundred years but never realised it until now.

Lips on lips and skin against skin, Dean feels alive, every nerve ending sending electric shocks through his body. Cas moves above him and the air fills with harsh pants and tension tight enough to cut with a single movement.  
Dean thinks his nails have left open wounds on Cas's back and the rest of their clothes are lost somewhere in the darkness but he doesn't care, presses his lips against Cas's throat and closes his eyes and forgets about everything apart from him and Cas right here, right now.

'Not much longer - now, _now _-' Dean says, because he's spiralling, twisting high and crashing down and leaving hot marks on Cas's skin as golden stars explode around him, raining down and settling on his blazing flesh, an afterglow of stardust cloaking them both.  
Cas looks down at him for a moment and then they're on their sides and Cas is tracing the freckles on Dean's nose.

They don't talk for a while; maybe Cas knows Dean needs a minute to sort through it all. Hell, Dean thinks he'll need a hundred minutes just to get started. It's not like he's never thought guys were _attractive _before, but this? This is a whole new level and he's not sure if he can handle it.  
_Just Cas_. He tells himself. _It's just because it's Cas_.

He doesn't realise he's said so out loud until he sees a tiny smirk on Cas's face.  
'Just because it's me?' He asks, and suddenly his face changes, blue eyes wide and vulnerable.

Dean's a little relieved that Cas isn't bugged out by the fact that Dean's kinda freaking over the whole gay thing, but at the same time his heart wrenches at Cas's slightly trembling voice.

'Yeah, Cas.' He murmurs, and cups Cas's cheek. 'You're the first guy ever for me, to, you know. Have a thing with. And I don't really think it could, uh, happen with anybody else.' Dean clenches a fist and sighs; because _dammit_ he wants to sound pretty and poetic and make Cas feel special and actually be _worthy _of him but he doesn't work like that.  
Dean's mouth spews crudely structured sentences and every kind of obscenity but never has anything close to beautiful left his lips. And he wants to say this, too, wants to apologise for being the way he is, rough and unpolished and kind of all-round _grimy _while Cas is so stunningly pure but he can't find the right way to say it and he just hopes that Cas can understand.

And maybe Cas has got enough mojo left to be able to tell at least roughly what Dean's feeling because he smiles gently and places his hand over Dean's, pressing Dean's palm closer to his face.

'It doesn't matter,' he says, sincerity bleeding through in the tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes never leave Dean's face.  
'I would hate to have you any other way.'

So Dean smiles; leans in and kisses Cas and hopes that maybe this can translate into something beautiful instead. And then Cas kisses him back and he thinks that maybe no, it doesn't need to translate into something else because it's perfect the way it is.

Dean's spent his whole life looking for the greater meaning in things and he can finally see everything perfect in this one, simple act of love.


End file.
